


The Fatverse: Alike, Yet So Beautifully Different.

by justplainhrony



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Belly Kink, Blob Kink, Burping, Button Popping, Chubby, Chubby Kink, Extreme Obesity, Fat - Freeform, Fat Bellies Everywhere, Fat fetish, Feeding Kink, Gluttony, Immobility, Male Weight Gain, Morbidly Obese, Multi, Other, Rapid weight gain, Slob kink, Stuffing, Unrealistic Weight Gain, Weight Gain, belly play, immobile, obesity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 07:20:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29622639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justplainhrony/pseuds/justplainhrony
Summary: The Fatverse is a universe similar to ours, but one key difference is their main lifestyle: they live to eat and they eat to live. Their entire existence is centered on getting fatter and heavier. 300 pounds? You're dangerously underweight. It's a beautiful and smelly place to live, and they love it.Note; read chronologically. All short stories are intertwined.Also note; I may not update this continually, but I will do my best to. Schedules are NOT my thing.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

Many parallel universes exist at the same time as one another, all with slight changes or outright abnormalities. One of my favorites is the Fatverse. This is a world where not only is the beauty standard to be morbidly obese, but it’s where everyone is geared in their lives.

Let’s take a closer look at this world, shall we? From the moment you are born, you are overfed and underworked. Schools require you to bring multiple snacks to eat during class, and if you don’t have one, the teacher, wobbling as they walk up and down the classroom, will pass them out even while eating some themself. And, by snack, I mean at least a burger and fries, whereas full meals were larger things such as hunks of fattening meats or gallons of creamy pastas. Each class ended with a layer of crumbs on the floor and smeared sauces across the desks, building up after each class and having to be cleaned every day. Some janitors were so desperate they would eat half eaten meals left behind. It wasn’t surprising that most students graduated at over 400 pounds, some of the more successful even being near 600 and needing electric wheelchairs to go to their classes. Most schools struggled when being built as rooms needed to be bigger to accommodate the sheer circumferences of the students in the rooms and still had to manage a shorter walk time so students never unintentionally lost weight.

The average weight of the population has risen throughout the years; when it began being tracked in the late eighties, the average weight was already 257 pounds, a hundred pounds more than our universe. Since then, it has skyrocketed to 592, as most of the adult population has surpassed seven, eight, even nine hundred pounds. Scientists continually create more ways to help people gain, more ways to pack on the pounds and keep people alive.

Imagine that; 500 pound scientists waddling around a lab, their hanging guts bumping against one another. They huff and puff as they mix together different concoctions, many just having to sit on their fat asses just to give themselves a rest, even though they’d been standing for a few minutes. They pumped out hundreds of different powders, mixes, and drinks to keep people growing and full- not without trying them on themselves first. Just imagine the silly little scientists working and eating, scarfing their food down and working on formulas, leaning forward and bursting their lab coats wide open, earning cheers from their coworkers. 

Button poppings were almost always a call for a promotion, especially at work. It showed their dedication to their bodies, and their bosses admired that, as they tended to be these eight hundred pound monsters of people that buzzed around on electric wheelchairs. They flaunted their broken clothes, hanging them on their walls, wearing them with pride as their work attire. Occasionally they’d buy new clothes, only to break them during the day because of their appetite. It was always a competition in an office of who could gain the most weight and who could eat the most. Most desks were built higher to accommodate the bellies that these workers flaunted as they were some of the laziest and hungriest. Their keyboards were covered in grime and crumbs from their eating sessions as most workers gorged while they worked, only to go to the break room and gorge more, the walk there starving them and making them whine for food.

Many adults rendered themselves immobile as they grew older and larger, and the most immobile became famous almost instantly. One such example is a man that managed to surpass one thousand pounds, confined to a specially built, industrial grade wheeled platform with nothing but his own expansive gut covering his privates. He reached that massive number and became over publicized, everyone asking how he got to such an enormous size. He was happy to answer them, gorging while he was interviewed and rubbing his gut with his pudgy fingers. 

He dedicated his whole life to food, his whole body, and they’re lucky they were able to get their interviews in because he just kept gaining. He gained another hundred, two hundred, four hundred, and the weight proved pushing air out in the form of words to be extremely difficult. It wasn’t like he could write, either, as his limbs were so fat that they stuck out to his sides, unable to move more than to reach from whatever he was gorging on to his mouth and back again, and even then, it was proving to be harder and harder. All he could do by ways of communication was grunt when he’s hungry, when people that devoted themselves to him and stayed close to him were able to feed him and keep his massive gut full of cheap, slobby junk. He was the most famous immobile, popularizing the trend.

The man was also known for his sheer mess; his face, gut, and hands were covered in so much disgusting fluid, so many sticky sauces and crumbs that he was known as the Pig Man. So many people loved this, in fact, that the average weight jumped from 463 to 592 in just the two years after he became a celebrity. So many people were determined to gain to his level of absolute pigginess, of such sloppy proportions, that slabs on wheels similar to the Pig Man’s had to be mass produced so they could continue to get around, despite how tired just steering around the mode of transport made them.

Waddling through the streets as one of them would reveal a lot about their society. Few people actually walked, most simply buzzed about on little scooters or on the aforementioned platforms, stuffing their faces with food constantly. The only ones that walked were those that didn’t mind the pain or children, little bowling ball-shaped preteens that were already pushing 300 pounds and were still snacking on a burger or a few churros, whatever they would get into their fat faces. Their parents buzzed along with them, bags of chips ten times the size of ours slung like a purse around their shoulders as they shoved them into their faces, dust smearing across their faces. All this just to get to a restaurant, where they finished off their snacks before being seated.

Restaurants were almost all buffet style, but instead of having to do any more work than necessary and constantly get up, each seat was at the end of a conveyor belt which continually ran the circumference of the restaurant. It was filled at one end and by the end it went back towards the kitchen where it would be refilled. On busier days when people packed themselves in there, bellies pressed against one another, chubby hands reaching constantly, the fat chefs had to set up a station halfway through or even two or three more to refill it as the population was incredibly greedy for fattening foods and the chefs kept eating it all.

Most people with children had to bring extra motorized chairs for their kids as they were able to walk when they arrived, but leaving was a different story. Everyone ate thousands of calories just in a sitting- the ideal diet contained fifteen thousand calories a day- and those foods pushed against gravity, pinning most patrons down. It was a sight to see someone arrive on their feet and eat so much that they couldn’t leave by the time they declared themselves full, despite ‘fullness’ never truly being achieved in this society. Sometimes, a patron would finally reach their goal of immobility at a restaurant, and even the firefighters that helped them out carried their own hundred-pound guts. 

Homes were built differently. Staircases slowly became obsolete and were replaced with ramps, and then even ramps began to go out of style. This lead to most homes being just one floor, rooms placed over larger areas. Bathtubs were required as standing to bathe was too tiring, and eight foot wide tubs became popular. Every door was at least six feet wide to ensure that people would gain and gain and still fit, and yet people like the Pig Man still managed to get stuck, having to call the Thousand Pound Squads- a nickname for the firefighters that came to help people in predicaments involving incapacitating weight- just to get through their doors. They earned the nickname because one, they helped people well over a thousand pounds, and two, the combined weight of three tended to be at least a thousand or more.

Some would get confined to their bedrooms this way, which lead to the invention of little robots that buzzed back and forth between your front door and your designated Fat Spot- where your were pinned down by your fat, a spot you had eaten so much that you were destined simply to never leave that spot again. Some of said robots even helped to feed the person that bought the robots, as some were too big to move their arms without getting tired, the flab hanging from their limbs being too great. 

Some found enough adrenaline to shove five thousand calories inside of themselves in one sitting, having the robot buzzing around so quickly. They had to use extra momentum to force their arms forward enough to rub their guts and make room for more, letting out huge belches. Robots doting on them made them lazier and slobbier, some losing whole burgers and slices of pizza in rolls of fat or under their triple chins. They wiped their grimy hands wherever they could, which tended to be their own bare bodies, being covered in stickiness wherever they could reach. The sheer stench that these people emitted was abominable, but they revelled in it, even calling their friends over to brag about how much they stunk and how loud they would burp after drinking a 4-liter bottle of cola. Their friends would barely fit in the room, bellies pressed together, making them all burp and belch as they were always full and needed to make room. This made the room smell even worse, and yet made them all hungrier. Some dared to reach in their friend’s folds and eat any food lost in there as their gut called for more.

Most parents were young, in their early twenties, because most of them are upwards of 500 pounds by that point and if they were to get any fatter, then it would be simply impossible to procreate as they would tire too quickly and would simply be unable to reach. Once a woman finally gives birth and gains her pregnant pounds, most mothers just let themselves descend into immobility on their own while nurturing their child. This tends to make the average female weight higher than the male weight by at least fifty pounds, creeping higher each year. Thanks to the extra fatty foods they ate while pregnant, any women that breastfeed pass that fatty milk directly onto their children, making it the preferred form of feeding the babies to get them fatter faster.

Instead of school sports, there were school eating contests that lasted months, where each team of ten had to gain the most by the end of the season to win. Students involved in these sports were doted on by everyone around them, fed extra meals both at school and at home, and never required to move more than they needed. All they did was waddle along to classes and eat, smearing their grubby fingers across their papers. They waddled out at the end of the day, riding home on buses that would only fit ten people, and even then, it was tough when a sportsy student rode and ate even on the way home, so tired from ascending the stairs onto the bus. More than once has a sporty student gotten stuck in various doorways and seats, needing the help of his classmates to move or even get up in some cases.

Clothes work very differently. There is no such thing as “extra large”, but there are “extra small” sizes that actually get bigger every few years as the population gets fatter and fatter. Those were meant for anyone that was under 250 pounds, as it was considered unnatural to not want to get big and fat. Even the biggest clothes are really made to rip as the society was unintentionally nudist once you hit a certain size. The threshold tended to be at around a thousand pounds, hence the Pig Man never wearing clothes. It was common to see people wearing shredded clothes as they waddled along, fat bulging through the holes in their clothes, pieces of fabric falling off onto the ground with each shift and belch. Some were unable to rip them and wore shirts that only came to the top of their enormous bellies, showing the nipples of their sagging breasts. Women were discouraged from wearing bras as they were too restrictive on their gains. Some wore them solely to rip them, but most just let their boobs hang. Many women waddled around with their breasts out, sagging on either side of their guts. Some even touched the floor if a woman who had children in the past just laid down. 

Fat distribution was broken down into genetics; some had it in their asses, some in their boobs, but most people carried most of their weight in giant, bulging, hanging guts that brushed against their knees when they walked- used as tables and covered in red marks from where people grew pound after pound every single day. Guts were the most worshipped thing in this society as it was easiest to grow a giant gut. Most revelled in their inability to bend over or their ability to lay face down and never have their face touch the ground. Guts were also the most important and were never fully soft as everyone was encouraged to stay so full it hurt- hence why people tended to use wheelchairs instead of having to walk. Most people got tired just after a few steps, so full it weighed on them as much as their mounds of fat, huffing and puffing and needing a place to sit. Cushy, wide, industrial grade benches were stationed close to one another on the sidewalk, in case anyone lost their breath and needed to sit somewhere, which were almost always seating at least one person, huffing and rubbing their belly which was more than likely full. This was even more common than you thought, as people never went anywhere without something to munch on, meaning their mouths were occupied by something other than breathing even while they waddled along, sloppy, open mouthed chewing being needed to breathe and eat as they walked.

This society was focused entirely and wholly on eating until they were pinned by their own weight to wherever they happened to eat just a little too much. Even the media focused around gaining weight- shows portrayed women leaving their lovers for a man with hundreds more pounds, comedies making jokes about thin people and how absurd they found it to be thin- how couldn’t you love being fat?! You became so big and got to eat so much, not having to hold back one bit. You became so slobby as time went on, belching and smelling to high heaven. Your gut got to be so full all the time, and even when it was full, you still wanted to be fuller, to stuff your face full of more and more and more food. Gyms did not exist- only places like mega buffets where you got to just sit back and get fed by your equally fat waiters, serving sometimes half eaten plates.

Waiters were not only allowed, but required to eat on the job as it made the restaurants look better- fatter employees meant better food, but also made it harder for them to work, leading to most cooks and waiters and such working young and only for a few years as some would eat so much they would get stuck in the kitchens from eating so much before taking the food out, sitting on the floor, surrounded in plates and wrappers and covered in all kinds of juices. The Thousand Pound Squads loved responding to those calls, because they got to eat the leftovers, stuffing their faces even while they wheeled the immobile chefs out, ignoring the victim whining for another three layer cake or some 4-liters of cola.

That’s something we haven’t discussed yet; the Thousand Pound Squads. Firefighters that waddled along, huffing and puffing and responding mostly to calls about people being pinned under their weight. They could only walk a few feet before the whole team had to rest, their fat bodies barely able to handle the stress. They got their victims to where they needed to go and sat for a breather, groaning and whining that all that work deserved a couple meals, and retired to the break room. Break rooms in general were more like cafeterias, piled high with snacks of fries and pie slices and two layer cakes. Cafeterias, however, were a fat mans dream, piled with thousands of calories in just a serving, and so many people demanded second servings and even thirds, then sloppily scarfed down a dessert bowl of chocolate pudding to feed a family. 

It’s not surprising but so extremely pleasing to know that these eating habits of being so greedy and demanding more food and more calories lead to, over time, everyone getting sloppier overall. It wasn’t a trend at that point, and people just began to evolve as a society. Teens going into adulthood tended to be the sloppiest- apart from the thousand pound people- and they were almost always found with smeared food across their face and whatever clothes they wore, if any. Most wiped their filthy hands on their guts where their shirts rode up, complaining that their parents never gave them enough food when they had just scarfed down a five layer cake as just their dessert. 

Lazy teens had a huge advantage going into adulthood and were typically the ones that push 600 pounds at 20 years old; they’re already used to pigging out while doing nothing put playing video games in their rooms, resting contrtollers or keyboards on their guts and scarfing down bags and bags of those 10x sized chip bags just in one sitting of some shooting game- most were based around a fat hero shooting skinny targets, which were harder to hit, and dropped food to make the protagonist fatter as the game progressed. By the end of the game, the protagonist was immobile, a blob that consumed the world and all the food it had.

So many people are so focused on getting fatter that no one had much time for things like pets. There were enough that did, however, and it provided enough of an influence that this greed spread across any other thing that humans exposed themselves to. The animals that lived near any human cities waddled along, balls of flab that ate anything that they could find. Humans that kept pets had cats that would barely walk and, like their owners, only moved to eat.

Science advanced so far that while they were able to preserve the pleasurable pain of walking three steps, they made sure that human bodies would sustain the heavy weights put on them. Fake hearts and miracle pills filled the market, helping keep the population alive and fat. The scientists made sure to use them first, able to move around their labs by heavy breathed waddling or in wheelchairs, buzzing about to make the next miracle as their own greed overtook them. Some made miracle serums that boosted gains for a short time, helping to gain hundreds in just two days. These were only available to the wealthy, but the black market found them and sold them in back alleys. That’s comical- looking down an alley and seeing a blob of a man trading something off with another blob and watching the second blob pop it in his mouth almost immediately. And maybe a few days later, you’d recognize the second blob on the street, using a thousand pound wheeled platform to get around because of the effects of the pill. And then you tried it, and it worked its magic, making you so much bigger.

The life in this universe was simple; you live to eat and you eat to live, and over the course of your life, you watch your belly protrude and hang, you loose sight of your feet and legs, and you grow heavier with each passing day. You become an adult and find it harder and harder to walk, and your back groans from the pressure. You huff and puff and gorge while you walk, belching and feeling your pants rip. Maybe you go to college, but even there, you eat and eat and eat, and each class ends with students full and belching as they try to make room for the lunch that follows, teachers having to have their lunch delivered to their room as teaching tired them so much.. You grow and grow and grow, and finally you sit down on a chair and now you can’t move anymore, not without professional help. You get help and sit your wide ass on your bed, keeping yourself naked so you have no more hinderance when you grow, and from there you just balloon as walking is no longer necessary, pinned in a sitting position on your bed. Your mother, 500 pounds heavier by now, expresses her pride in you in grunts and an attempt at a smile, and even that tires her out. You grow bigger and wider and fatter, and soon your gut hangs off the bed, your arms stick out to the sides as they are unable to bend with all your fat. Your mouth is so tired from chewing that you just can’t speak, breathing heavily between your bites. You have to hire servants or buy robots just to keep yourself fed and insatiably full. It’s a comfortable life from then on, your only care being getting bigger and bigger and bigger. 

This was Fatverse 2020, but imagine in the future? Where people graduated at 700 pounds, where all adults made it to 1000 pounds by age thirty and lazed around on their wheeled platforms while their children found the same fate, where the older populations reminisced on their “skinny days” in grunts between stuffing their fat maws and where people got to reach 2000 pounds, fed by servants as they were unable to operate robots and encouraged the servants to eat the food they got fed with grunts and groans, just the slight noises making their fat chins jiggle. 

Where children were born weighing fifty pounds, already having fat deposits on their bodies after their mothers ate so fervently during their pregnancies and were immobile almost immediately after the woman giving birth. Where all houses had their own personal conveyor belts directly from a food depository and even then, the workers there ate half the stock, unable to move by the end of each shift and relying completely on their wheelchairs, denying the residents food for their greedy maws and prompting them to order more for delivery. 

Where teenagers got wheelchairs for their birthdays instead of cars so they could get to classes easier, and the teachers could barely teach around the food stuffed in their mouths and the tiresome effort of talking and the floors littered with crumbs, their guts preventing them from walking around the room while teaching which just promoted more eating at their desks. Where everyone was covered in smeared sauces, ice creams, and chunks of meats, their guts having grown so far they couldn’t find their first smears anymore, and even then, lazy kids were covered in gunk and crumbs. 

Where the Pig Man was able to triple in size, living in a gymnasium sized room just to fit his massive gut and couldn’t remember the last time he spoke or moved his hands on his own, his whole ‘top half’ smeared in disgusting sauces and remnants of belches long past. Where every person was a living, not-quite-walking blob of disgustingly enormous proportions and lost food in the folds of their bellies and backs. Where food got bigger and sloppier and so did the people and their huge guts, and when it wasn’t big enough, the next biggest meal came out and everyone lived in harmony because of this.

It’s a beautiful world. Join me, as each time I update, I’ll show you another story of this delicious and appetizing world.


	2. Growing Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life of various students. Enjoy.

Today, we’ll look at an elementary school, filled with plump little children. There was no playground as excess physical activity was heavily discouraged, especially in the youth. Teachers made sure children only ever walked, strictly no running was allowed to promote ‘good health’. This wasn’t hard as the children were already obese, their tubby guts constantly poking through their shirts and growling for more and more food. They couldn’t eat as much as a high schooler, but they still tanked up throughout the day with a balanced diet of chips and sweets so no one got a sugar high and got too energetic. 

Some children were more ahead- for example, Johnny Dickson, a 250 pound fifth grader who waddled and puffed into class every day. It was surprising he hadn't gotten a wheelchair yet. He was the star student and barely ever spoke, constantly shoving more food in his face. He’d go to class in the morning and sit in his seat, eating a bag of chips and a couple boxes of cereal he brought from home, then finish it off with two 2-liters as he wasn’t strong enough to carry more than that. 

He’d finish that before lunch, belching in his high pitched little way, and then his fellow students helped him up and helped him down the hall to the cafeteria, where he really gorged. Another two bottles of soda, a pile of PB&J sandwiches, a gallon of pudding and a few cookies for dessert filled him up before he waddled back to class where the class got their after-lunch snack; a decent sized cake with a thick layer of fatty frosting, an extra tub of frosting going to little Johnny since his appetite was much bigger. 

He’d whine on the bus ride home about not having anything to eat, but this was typical of a child. They were all so used to staying stuffed throughout the day that going the short way from school back home was tiring. What he ate at home was a mystery to the class, who were all jealous of his size.

Either way, making sure the children were fed was a stressful task laid upon the teachers. The teachers tended to bloat up- the lightest working there was second grade teacher Mr. Clark, coming in only at 603 pounds, and the heaviest was actually Johnny’s teacher. She was a colossal woman, barely able to roll out of her bed in the morning to get on her large platform scooter and head to work as her belly hindered most of her movement. She’d given up on clothes long ago, and breasts being indecent was a thing of the past. Her ever expanding mass came in at 897 pounds, but surely by the end of the week she’d finally breach 900. Her name was Miss Robinson, and she was the most idolized teacher at the school. 

She breathed heavily, sitting at her desk while the students were at lunch. The lunch ladies always gave her some of their extras, the fat little women waddling in with plates and plates of food, all ending up inside of the woman’s stomach before the bell rang for the children to return. She still suckled on a milkshake and, thank god, had saved a couple snack cakes for herself- snack cakes as in full cakes meant for snacks- so she’d hopefully make it through the day without being too terribly empty.

The students waddled back in, each one sitting at their tables with the cakes in front of them, Johnny coming in last and smiling in relief when he saw the size of his frosting bowl had grown since yesterday. 

The colossal woman at the front finished her milkshake and exhaled, patting her massive gut and looking at the class. “Alright, kids, today is an important lesson.” Suck, chew. She began working on those cakes, as did the rest of the class. “You will learn just why we all become so hungry and-” _chew, slop_ \- “how to stay as full as you can.”

“First,” she said, waving a chocolate covered finger in the air, “do not move, not if you can help it. That’s why running and sugar highs are strictly forbidden. Heck-” _belch, bite, chew_ \- “most of us teachers can’t run anymore, never run in our lives, cause if you move too much, you do something that we call-” _suckle, chew, gulp_ \- “burning calories. We all remember what calories are, yes?” She pointed at a little girl in the back. “You remember?”

The girl swallowed the cake in her mouth and said, “what makes us fat!”

“Exactly! And who remembers how many calories-” she grabbed chunks of cake with her bare hands and shoved them in her mouth- “you have to eat every day when you’re a kid?”

“Ten thousand!” Johnny said with his mouthful of frosting, wiping his hands on his shirt. It was surprising he knew that, considering he probably ate as much as any adult did.

“Yup. Anyways, people can get rid of calories by moving too much, so we need to stay as sedentary as possible, which means living a life where you barely move.” She took the last of her first cake and swallowed it all down in a mighty gulp, starting the next. “Now,” she swallowed, “the next thing is to remember that every morsel counts. Every little bit of food that you see needs to end up in your growing belly, no matter how much it hurts. Pushing your limits-” _belch_ , “is how you get better at something. You’ll never get big and fat like me if you skip out on meals-”

One of the children burped, finishing their cake.

“Beautiful,” the teacher praised. “Learn to love those big burps, they always mean that you have more room. You get a good eating rhythm going and forget to burp, the one you let out can shake a room. Nothing feels better than a big burp, then getting more food-” _chew, smack_ \- “into your gut.”

“Now, as for why-” _belch_ \- “we get so starved, it’s built into us by now. Tell me, when was the last time you went more than half an hour-” _chew, gulp_ \- “without food? Hm?” _Swallow, belch._ She smeared excess icing on her sagging breast. “Never. Your big bellies are used to being big and bloated all the time and can’t-” Belch- “stand when it’s-” _smack, chew, smack_ \- “empty.” 

Johnny only nodded along, slurping down his frosting at this point. Just as he finished, the bell rang, dismissing class. The children all slowly rose to their feet, slowly waddling out of class. Miss Robinson bid them farewell before finishing off those cakes. Once she finished, the children had gone, and no one was able to hear the earth shattering belches she released but herself. They vibrated her chest, creating more friction and more belches until there was no more gas left. She smeared her messy hands across her belly and smacked her lips, sighing as she directed her motorized platform out of the school and to the nearest restaurant as just leaving the school was tiring for her. Those cakes were already wearing off… 

\---

Let’s look at a high school now- the students certainly plump up by the time they hit high school, most of them having hanging bellies, wide asses, and sagging breasts. No shirts cover their guts and most pants have been ripped at the seams, being flaunted proudly even as they rip more. They have similar eating habits to the younger generations, but their appetites have increased. A couple burgers and a bucket of greasy fries are a morning snack after whatever indulgent breakfasts their parents make, and lunch is piles on piles of greasy, fatty foods. Signs everywhere say ‘No Student Left Hungry’, with a picture of a morbidly obese student just like the ones eating the foods. In class snacks are provided the rest of the day such as cakes, pastries, noodles, and anything else the students want as long as the lunch ladies can make it.

Most, unfortunately, plateau during high school, sitting at a comfortable 450 pounds for their high school years. Some of them join the Eater Team- similar to a sports team, but instead of any kind of sport, all they do is eat even more excessively for the entire second semester and try to gain the most collective weight by the end. But that’s for another story.

The biggest teacher at the high school is a man named Mr. Hornburg, a man who only sits at 873 pounds but refuses to give up on trying to gain more and more, as any _decent citizen_ would. He tended only to show videos in his class, too lazy to do much else other than stuff himself all day. He’s pretty sure he’s only employed because he’s such a good role model, but he’ll take it, as long as he can eat.

Today, he showed a two year old interview of the Pig Man, the most famous thousand pounder. The video showed a naked man, enormous gut pinning him to a wheeled platform like Miss Robinson’s, stuffing his face constantly. The interviewer asked him questions and the man, reluctantly, stopped eating to answer.

“You know,” he said around his food, “I just realized how cheap it was to get fatter, you know? I used to be small, underweight, really-” they flashed an old photo of him, and text on the screen said he was only 364 pounds- “and I was tired of it, I could still see my fuckin’ feet! I never got the hang of getting fat until I saw McRoomie’s food. And I said, hey, maybe if I only eat that, that’ll help. You have no clue how many calories are in just ten of the burgers! I’m sure I ate maybe, I dunno, 20 thousand calories a day for the first like, few months, and it just kept getting more and more.” He paused to catch his breath, so out of shape that even talking tired him out. He shoved more food in his mouth, smearing it all over his face and wiping the excess on his expansive gut. The students watched in wonder, and half the class had week old smears on their faces and bellies just like he did.

By the end of the interview, his food was gone and all he did was continuously belch as the credits rolled, his hands resting on his big, greedy gut, begging for more food between belches.

The class had still not finished their after lunch snacks, and the lunch ladies had come in in the middle of the video to fill their plates again to keep them full. The students began to chatter, _“did you hear? Apparently he’s so fat he can’t talk anymore. Makes him too tired.” “Yeah, can barely move his arms. Guy’s living the dream.” “God, I’m hungry, this shit never fills me anymore. Anyone wanna hit up McRoomie’s after school?”_

Just like everyone else, and just as they had been taught, all they cared about was their food and their weight. No matter how the schools pampered them, how they ate, how they dove headfirst into gluttony, they were never full and never satisfied. It was more common with teenagers than anything, as they constantly whined for more, even when their mouths and hands were both full of food. 

It was truly a beautiful sight, this Fatverse. 


	3. Team Sports

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why would sports exist? They make you lose weight, dummy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes this is a harringrove chapter. Yes the characters are Steve Harrington and Billy Hargrove from Stranger Things. Shut up.

Eater Teams were teams of ten seniors formed at the beginning of the second semester. The goal was for each team to gain as much weight as possible and whichever team gained the most collective weight, they were deemed the winner and the fattest person on their team would accept a medal at graduation.

One boy that had joined an eater team was a young man named Billy. He stood at a nice five hundred pounds, and huffed and puffed his way through each school day. He was slow and constantly hungry as a growing boy should be, and gained a habit of constantly rubbing his giant stomach even when it didn’t need the rubs. He loved his gut- it hung out of all his clothes, and he even kept some of his older clothes that only covered his large moobs, which really got the girls all wild. He was one of the biggest in his class, overshadowed only by a few people, and it was all because of his father. Every day, Billy arrived home and entered his house, resting a hand on his gut as he gazed at his father, who had not moved from the living room since Billy was a boy. The man was enormous- surely pushing a thousand pounds by now- and only spoke to demand his second wife to set dinner on his belly or to demand Billy tell him how much he weighed. The man had stopped moving when he was only six hundred pounds, even though he was still mobile. He did this because he “was a man; men don’t walk, men lounge and eat until they can’t move anymore.”

Which, Billy supposed, was true, but he’d rather wait for immobility to come to him. He wanted to feel the excitement of eating a little too much and finding that he just couldn’t get up anymore, that his legs were to weak for his fat, wobbly body. He walked to the kitchen every day, where his stepmom sat in her wheelchair in front of the stove, breasts nearly catching fire as they were so close. The table was always filled with food, even though she had been continually eating it. It was no wonder Billy’s gains slowed after his father remarried; she always insisted on homemade meals rather than eating some junk from McRoomie’s or one of the other chains he loved.

All that aside, it was no wonder his father insisted he joined an Eater team; He needed to gain some weight, anyway. He loved his gut, but it was beginning to feel just a bit too small. This, of course, was a concern he brought up to his boyfriend, Steve. Steve was much, much smaller, a terrifying 369 pounds. His belly barely hung, and he could still see his feet. He had wanted to join an eater team, but they wouldn’t take him, saying that he was so small they couldn’t rely on his eating habits to help the team. This thoroughly upset him.

It was mid February, and the Eater Season had already begun. They rented a motel room together and Steve helped Billy gorge on as much fast food junk as possible. It was clear they loved each other deeply, which was surprising for a high school relationship between two fresh 18 year olds. Steve was always willing to help Billy stuff himself, and since he was the lighter of the two, would also fuck Billy from time to time.

“I’m gonna miss that,” Billy expressed through a mouthful of fries. “The sex. I wish we could still fuck even after we get all fat and lazy.” Steve chuckled, a grin on his face as he shoved another handful of fries in the boy’s mouth.

“I’m glad you like it so much… though I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get big and fat like you, babe.” He looked at his own small belly, patting it slightly. “I eat just as much as everyone else does. I don’t get why I’m so skinny!”

Billy hummed and swallowed. “Some people get cursed with this weird medical condition, uh… your metabolism is like, faster. It’s like you’re burning calories without even moving.”

Steve pouted. “That’s shit,” he grumbled. “I go out of my way not to move too much or too fast. I’m finally getting out of breath between classes!”

Billy just ate and thought, ate and thought, ate and ate and ate…

“Hold on… I heard about this new drug they’re testing out,” he said with a grin. “Supposed to be for people like you. Makes you gain hundreds in like, a day or two. Heard you can get it cheap if you buy it second hand…”

Steve paused and grinned just like him. “I want it.”

\---

They pampered each other, really. Every other week they rented a motel and had gorging sessions with one another, constantly praising one another for their gains. Steve did get a little heavier, but Billy was really growing. His gut felt wider and heavier with each passing day, and he swore his ass got juicier. Even between all this, he scoured the school for a hookup about that drug. He went from one blimped up kid to another, and finally, in the beginning of April, he found it. Billy, now a good fifty pounds heavier, finally found the pill he needed for Steve. He met up with a guy who was at least two hundred pounds heavier than him, both of them snacking while exchanging money for the pills. There were three, all little blue pills, each enough to put on three hundred pounds in three days.

He met up with Steve the next day, booking the hotel room for the next few days. “You have them?” Steve asked excitedly, grinning like a madman. He’d barely put on ten pounds and was excited for this. Billy nodded and had him lay on the bed. “Don’t get naked,” he instructed when Steve went to undress himself. “Just get nice and comfy. You won’t be able to leave for a few days.” He handed Steve the pill and the skinny boy eagerly popped it in his mouth. Billy was basically his maid at that point. Steve grew quicker than expected, and so did his appetite.

Within a day his gut covered his lap and what remained of his neck was hidden under flab and, after Billy constantly feeding him, smears of chocolate milk shakes and greasy burger juice. The boy’s XS clothes ripped at the seams, and after two days, Steve was heaved off the bed. He was… bigger than Billy! His gut hung lower, he had and extra chin, and his ass was wider. Steve was absolutely giddy!

Stepping on the scale, Steve learned he was 704 pounds, and his wobbling legs barely held him up. The gains were over 300 pounds, and he’d nearly doubled his weight! Steve grinned, everyone would love him now.

\---

Heavy breathing and smacking of lips filled the hallways of the school, nothing out of the norm, really. Students waddled to class, some groaning as their too-stuffed bellies bumped and created an unpleasant feeling. Most of the students were 400, 500, maybe 600 pounds if they were really good. But here came Steve- previously the thinnest, and now, he was the heaviest. His breathing was the most labored, and were shallower as his fat moobs weighed down on his chest, preventing him from getting a full breath. His footfalls were the loudest, he shook the halls the most when he stepped, as his huge legs, surely a hundred pounds apiece, could barely lift more than a few inches off the ground, not to mension his giant gut prevented such flexibility. And lastly, when someone bumped his huge gut, he let out the loudest belch, the stench floating about him constantly and everyone stopping to stare in genuine aw as he went straight back to stuffing himself. He still wore the clothes from when he grew, the shreds still managing to stay on his body through sheer might, or maybe because they were getting caught in his sweaty rolls of lard.

He plopped down in his class, hearing his chair creak but not paying a lick of attention to it. These chairs were built for hundreds of pounds to sit on them. Laying a hand on his gut, he belched again, then went back to shovelling handfuls of pure frosting into his mouth. He’d bought some gallon tubs of it- fifteen to be exact- when he left the motel that night. It was one of many bountiful goodies Billy bought him, among a few 4-liters of soda, a dozen and a half gallons of ice cream, cartons of heavy creams, twenty buckets of cream cheese, really anything mushy and easily edible. He’d eaten different things intermittently, and the frosting itself? There were three tubs left. All the goodies were almost gone, the containers lying about at his house, never to be thrown away.

He bought all of that just a few days ago, having greatly underestimated how purely ravenous he was. He huffed when he reached into his tub and saw it empty, belching again and reaching into his bag- one with wheels- to grab the last one he brought, the other two sitting at home, waiting to get into his new bottomless pit of a gut. He popped the lid and began shovelling it in again, barely paying attention to class as he made a mess of himself with the frosting. It was all over his hands, his face, his belly. He leaned back in his chair and heard a mighty creak. The chair made of solid metal had bent under his weight. He didn’t care; all he knew was that he was hungry, and when he was hungry, he ate. His gigantic belly was pulled taut at the top already, but he didn’t care. He was hungry. He ate. He was still hungry. He still ate. There were still five minutes left in class when he looked down and saw that the new tub was empty, too. Fuck, that was five he went through just at school, imagine how hungry he was going to get when he got home…

\---

Turns out Steve had developed a huge appetite and, thank god, a slowed metabolism. Graduation came, and the principal, naked and bound to a wheeled platform, was on the stage announcing the winners of the annual Eater Season. Of course it was Billy’s team, and Billy had won overall, blowing up from 554 pounds to 616 pounds. He waddled across the stage, huffing and puffing and having to stop to rest once he got to the principal. He accepted the medal and smiled for the camera, then waddled his way off the stage to sit down and eat something as just that short walk had starved him.

“And now,” the principal spoke into his microphone, “the heaviest classman of this year is… Steve Harrington at a beautiful 789 pounds!” Yeah, that extra 85 pounds was solely Steve gorging in the month and a half between his growth and graduation. He walked slower than Billy, raddling the stage and causing feedback on the mic, resting every three or so steps. Leaning over to rest meant the bottom of his belly grazed the floor beneath him, making him grin pridefully, no matter how much he hurt. He was able to accept his medal then made his way offstage, sitting beside Billy with a grin. They shared a bucket of fries, belching occasionally. It wasn’t disruptive, it happens every year. Everyone was constantly full anyways, they were going to be a bit gassy.

“I can still try to fuck you,” Steve whispered with a grin. “I won’t last long, but I can.”

Billy smiled. “You’re on.”


	4. Unknowing Competition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eat the rich, those greedy pigs...

After dwelling in the lab for hours on end, knocking over countless bottles with his belly, and losing dozens of snacks under the fold between his gut and his fat pad, the head scientist leading the charge of SuperGain pills was done, and all he needed now was a test subject. Good thing he knew exactly where to find one…

A decade or two ago, he had also had a hand in developing a special kind of steel, a dozen times stronger and more durable than the original blend. This led to the ability to build skyscrapers, ones that could withstand the weight of several 500-pound behemoth people. What it really meant was the heaviest elite being able to buy out the penthouses and live there fulltime without worrying about the building collapsing.

There were two men constantly fighting for the title of the largest man; Pig Man, currently standing- or sitting- at 1,578 pounds, nearly 16 hundred, and the chairman of McRoomie’s John McRoomie, who sat at 1,243 pounds. The billionaire was ashamed that a peasant was able to surpass him in weight just by eating his food, and even after trying his diet for years, only managed to close the gap between their weights by two hundred pounds. He needed help for the next three hundred, but had explained to the scientist that he refused to stop there. No, he needed more than that, and he needed it quickly. 

The time came, and the scientist, Jim Natal, was riding up the huge elevator meant for the chairman’s capacity. It could hold 15 hundred pounds at most, and the chairman was nearing that weight. Surely, with what he had in his pocket, that would change, for better or for worse.

The elevator dinged and opened to reveal the penthouse. It was so beautifully disgusting; empty wrappers littered the floor, sauces smeared across every surface, and a stench filled his nose like no other he’d ever smelled. A few tubs that had once been home to things like heavy creams and fattening sauces lay strewn about, flies buzzing around theml. All this lead to the absolute crescendo, a large, naked, fat man sort of sitting at a desk, his enormous belly covered in the same wrappers and smears as the rest of the room. Beneath folds that were now either out of view or out of reach, burgers lay trapped, squished in place for who knows how long. Loud smacking and chewing was heard, then a belch and even a fart, then more gobbling.

Dr. Natal cleared his throat and crossed the room, approaching his friend, McRoomie. “Johnny, you’ve been eating, I see.”

John was startled from his binge and hummed, swallowing. “When aren’t I?” He went back to sloppily eating his own creations, the McRoomie burgers, with sauce smeared across his face and obstructing any view of his lips. Some of those stains were over a year old by now, as he took pride in his mess.

“Well,” Jim said, “you may be able to get a break from eating-”

“Break?!” John asked, appalled and out of breath from the sudden outburst. “How dare you, this is what I’ve been working on for so long, I can’t stop-”

“I mean,” Jim interjected, showing some baggies of pills, “I finished the pills.”

This settled John down and he hummed contentedly, attempting to rest his hands on his belly but remembering his arms can no longer rest in that position comfortably, simply patting his gut to hide that realization. At least he could still manage lifting food into his mouth... “Good, good. Explain to me what will happen, I need the details.”

Jim grinned and nodded, holding a baggie of red pills. “This will be sold to the public. It contains pure calories and metabolism slowing chemicals, and will add approximately three hundred pounds to whoever takes it within three days of ingestion.” He showed a baggie of blue pills. “These are a higher dose, and would add five hundred pounds over two days.”

“Those are pussy pills,” John grumbled. “Show me the goods.”

Jim sighed and held up a baggie of green pills. “These would add seven hundred pounds in just a day. That’s as much as some adults nowadays. You want it?”

“Yes, I want it, and I want to wash it down with a couple 4 liters. And a cake. Oh, and a few gallons of pasta, too. And you can’t forget the-”

“Yes, yes, I’ll have someone bring it all up after you take the pill. Here.” He walked over and reached over his massive thigh to reach his hand, placing a green pill into the chairman’s obscenely fat hand. It wasn’t just chubby- he remembered when it was chubby- no, now he couldn’t even close it into a fist, and his forearm bubbled up around it. 

The chairman grinned and used all his might to bring his fat arm to his mouth and pop the pill in. Jim could barely tell he swallowed, as the chairman’s neck had been hidden under layers of fat for supposedly his whole life. “Finally,” he said, “I’ll have a leg up on that flabby poor fuck.”

Jim chuckled and nodded in agreement, mindlessly rubbing his own gut through his strained labcoat as he thought about what to order. He, of course, ordered everything the chairman asked for and more, and then even more to satisfy himself. Once he was done he stated, “I’ll have to stay with you until the effects finish their run to determine exactly what they do-” He turned around and already, he saw more flab building up on the outer edges of the chairman’s gut.

“Whoo,” the chairman said with a grin, “I can feel it already!”

The food soon arrived and the chairman began to binge and guzzle and slob his way through, but the scientist watched even while eating, and saw the man continually expand. His gut grew outward, beginning to push against the desk, and if he walked behind and examined the man’s rear, it began pressing against the glass windows, on show for all to see.

The process took shorter than expected- just a few hours- and the chairman ballooned up to 19 hundred pounds, breathing heavily as he had long finished his feast. Slight wiggles of his arms were all that happened as he attempted to move them, jiggling the rest of his body as a result. His arms appeared shorter, but he'd gained so much that the rings of fat made them appear that way. His feet, which had previously poked out of his fat ringed thighs, was covered by a colossal gut that pushed the desk out of the way to grow. His moobs sagged off to the side, and his arms could no longer even rest on his gut, pushed out to the sides like wings on some overfattened chicken. 

The doctor checked the scale that was built in under the man; 1949. Nearly 2000 pounds.

“Doctor-” he gasped out before panting, and found that talking became too much of a chore to even try at it. He wiggled again, huffing and wheezing as he found that even moving his arms was impossible, that he'd need to hire servants to feed him. One more try, though, couldn’t hurt; “F-Food…” he huffed and puffed, like the little boys that walked through the schools. “Bigger.”

And that sealed it. He rarely spoke after that, and even when he did, it was one of those three words. His days were filled with hired servants building a ramp up to feed him, and endless food going into that enormous gut. He looked as greedy as he was, his utter gluttony and constant hunger becoming not just his master, but his love, his lifelong commitment. This wasn't the end, far from it. This was just the beginning.

The doctor noticed, though, that the skyscraper had a slight bulge, just where the chairman was. Like it had simply bent to accommodate the new weight.

Astounding...


	5. Stranger in a Strange Land... Of the Morbidly Obese?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An outsider's take become's an insider's experience.

Jonathan Bumsworth. Multidimensional traveller extraordinaire. He was a spindly man, 120 pounds at most, and had jumped through many different universes, all different and yet alike. He decided to hop again, a grin on his face as he waited for the world around him to come into view.

He was inside a lab of some kind, and everyone around him were dressed as scientists, but… they were fat. No, not just fat, but morbidly obese, and still stuffing their maws with food, smears staining their lab coats. He looked at them in horror and they returned the same expression.

“Dear lord, he’s malnourished!” the man that seemed to be in charge said, tugging him forward. Jonathan only assumed he was in charge because he was the biggest, his gut straining against his jacket the most. He must be at least five hundred pounds, the outsider thought. Probably more. “My god, how are you living?!”

“Very easily, unlike you lot,” Jonathan retorted. “Where the hell am I?”

“Fatverse,” another man said, shovelling more food down his throat. “That’s what we’re known as across the multiverse. Kinda obvious, though.” He patted his big belly, and Jonathan watched it jiggle. It was really _that_ obvious that Jonathan was an outsider? Was everyone like this here?

“Here,” the assumed leader waved over a woman with a stout pear shape and a cart full of food, “eat. You must be starved after your travels.”

Jonathan, feeling welcomed, nodded and picked up a big, thick donut. He took a bite and hummed, eating it slowly. “This is… really good,” he mumbled around the food in his mouth. “Didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

He didn’t notice because he _wasn’t_ hungry, not before that first donut. It all went down from there. It started with the donut, then before he knew it, the cart was gone, and his stomach held a dull numbing pain that came with being too full. “God,” he grumbled, “I can’t believe I’m still hungry… Why have you people not made your food filling yet?” He shook his head and sighed, asking the fated question.

“Do you have any more?”

With that, the leader, who introduced himself to be Jim Natal, walked him through the lab to the cafeteria, where food was piled high on tables and employees just as fat as the others gorged nonstop. “All that walking made me hungry,” Natal said as he began stuffing himself as well.

Jonathan did not bring up the fact that the cafeteria could not have been a minute away from the lab, mostly because he was just as starving. He sat beside Natal and began gorging himself; he wasn’t as good at it, but he would be soon. 

\---

589.

That’s what the scale read. It was almost a year into his stay in this universe, and Jonathan had become almost six times his original size. He couldn’t even read the scale, he had to have another scientist read it for him because his now constantly full, bulging gut hung in the way. He stepped off, feeling himself wobble as he took a massive bite from the burger he held. Sauce dribbled down his chin, staining his ripped labcoat, damaged from his own indulgence. He didn’t care; it tasted good, and if it tasted good, there couldn’t be any real harm, especially if his gut liked it this much.

When he’d ripped the coat, he did not expect the applause he received from his new coworkers. Apparently, popping buttons was a way of… victory? Showing off one’s indulgence? Their gluttony? Then again, in a world that praised gluttony, it made perfect sense. So, he didn’t really mind…

He returned to work, having long abandoned hope of returning home, wherever that was. This was his home now. This was home, the universe with unending lines of food and a neverending appetite and an insatiable urge to get bigger, rounder, fatter. This was home, where he sat in a lab swallowing mouthfuls of pure vanilla ice cream by hand in a vain attempt to get fatter while working on projects to help the rest of the population get fatter as well. It really made him hungry.

Another month passed; he was 627. Still gorging. Still hungry. Apparently that McRoomie guy wanted to come down now, so they had to start plans on new equipment to fly him down. Jonathan's gut swallowed some work papers in the folds, and he had no clue where they went, no one daring to tell him.

Another month passed; he was 688. Still hungry. Still growing. His gut hung lower and it was getting harder and harder to walk. He had to pause every few steps just to breathe evenly again. Grumbling in his stomach was few and far between as he kept it full like everyone else seemed to.

Another month passed; he was 747. Still growing. Still gorging. Every day was the same, but he liked it. Two gallons of ice cream. Four of pure frosting. Twenty McRoomie burgers. Whatever the cafeteria was serving. A couple three layer cakes for a snack. Plus uncountable bags of chips. Walking was more difficult than ever and he breathed so much heavier. He began to occasionally use a wheelchair.

Another month passed; he was 823. He needed to ride around in a wheelchair constantly, only standing to move from one busted wheelchair to another since his gut broke the steering wheel on his first. His gut pressed against the steering wheel. One hand steered while a tub of something gushy, messy, and fatty was held between that arm and his body while the other hand shovelled whatever it was into his mouth. Plans on a sturdier helicopter for the McRoomie guy were coming along.

Another month passed; he was 927. He gained one hundred pounds in a month. His coworkers called it a big milestone. He would have called it disgusting a year and a half ago, but right now he was too busy shovelling this 5 tier celebration cake into himself. His gut really needed it. It took him hours to get off the floor, and a few more to get onto the new flat motorized cart he needed for his growing girth. Once he finally got up, he declared it time for his snack, as all that movement made him hungry.

Another month passed; he was 1058. One thousand pounds was a big deal. Big celebrations. He hadn’t walked in two months now. His arms could only rest comfortably atop his broad belly. Apparently he resembled that McRoomie guy now. He didn’t stop eating, he couldn’t. His gut needed it. He was always hungry.

Another month passed. He was 1203. Ten times the man he came there as. His hands were fat, unable to close on their own. He was covered in stains that were months old at this point. Some chocolate, some burger grease, all fat. He belched constantly, as he had taken to drinking a few 4-liters of soda each day. He had to eat so much more to satisfy himself. Five gallons of ice cream. Eleven of frosting. A hundred burgers. Stacks and stacks of cafeteria food. Dozens of dozens of bags of chips. Cakes like that celebration cake he had at 900 were light snacks for him. His mouth was caked in frosting and crumbs permanently. Eating even exhausted him, so he had to get some fancy robot to help him with it. He noticed that none of his other coworkers had gained like he had in such a short time span. Maybe it was a reaction of his outsider cells with this universe. But he was fine with that; he loved it, really.

Whatever. Doesn’t matter. Food does. Getting fatter does. Jonathan was content, but his gut would never be, and he loved that.


	6. It's Kinda Like Having A Side Hoe...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor is eager to see more effects of his pills and goes the one place he knows it will get used.

Doctor Jim Natal felt shame coursing through his intestines, his gut gurgling and swaying with every bump under his electric cart. He was far from the lab, sucking on a straw that connected to a large tank of soda hooked to his motorized chair while he buzzed along towards the place that housed the now second fattest man in the country.

Pig Man. A beautiful mound of jiggly lard. A whopping 1,578 pounds and counting. He lived in a single room house as he had no more needs to move, not with the servants and robots that kept him satisfied.

The Doctor entered the house, dismissing the servants and turning the robots off. This earned a groan and a growl from the colossal man, to which the Doctor spoke, “I know, just listen.” The large man simply glared, just barely shifting his head and tucking it into the folds of his chins to look at the doctor.

“I have been working on something that may be of your benefit…” The Doctor dug through his pocket and pulled out the bag of green pills, holding it up for him to see. “I’ve been working on pills that make you gain hundreds over a short time span, just days. This dose,” he shook the bag, “is much stronger than I anticipated. You will gain over 700 pounds just in a few hours. Do you want one?”

The colossal Pig Man growled greedily, his arm wiggling either to attempt to grab it from him or beckoning him closer. Either way, the Doctor obliged, heaving himself to his feet with a mighty huff. He waddled over and, with one surge of effort, leaned over and popped the pill into the Pig Man’s mouth. 

The Doctor waddled back to his chair and sat down, backing up to the edge of the room by the door while the servants and robots began feeding him again, stuffing even more food into his gut as the time he spent not eating- no more than _two minutes_ \- must have left him hungry.

Watching silently and guzzling his soda, the Doctor examined as the Pig Man’s gut surged forward over an hour. Fat developed further around his arms, appearing more like nubs of lumpy, folded fat. A few morsels- some burgers, cakes, whathaveyou- that were trapped in his folds simply got swallowed up in the mounds of fat. His legs were lost beneath his gut, as was the motorized platform that he’d lived on for the past few years. The only noises that the man made were slobby chewing noises as he scarfed down thousands of calories and loud belches that shook his entire being, ripples and waves moving the fat. His gut pressed against the walls of his home, making the steel in the walls creak and groan under the pressure.

The growth slowed after a few hours, and finally stopped. The doctor read the scale’s monitor with an excited grin; 2,287 pounds! This was the first man to ever grow past 2,000 pounds!

The Pig Man seemed unphased, unaware of the fact that he’d soon need a new home, as his gut was just destined to tear this one down. The man’s fat pressed against every wall, making it hard for the servants to feed him without having to climb on top of him. No, not only was he unphased, but his enormous belly growled, seeming to be eager for more food. 

He could only imagine how McRoomie would respond to that, after outgrowing the man just a short few months ago… But that’s for another time. That dimension traveller must be hungry, and he couldn’t miss second dinner. Especially since his soda tank was empty.


	7. Life Behind A Desk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can't seem to get fat like everyone else... Up to his dad to whip him into shape. A circle would do quite nicely.

Aside from their lazy, disgusting slobs that they call their children, some of the people that gain the fastest would have to be the average Joe office worker.

They sit in cubicles all day typing into a computer arbitrary and confusing numbers. It gets boring, and within half an hour, the already plumped up citizens need something to munch on to keep those growing guts full. The desks are positioned up high with one keyboard on the side of their non-dominant hand, close enough so they barely have to lift their arms and leaving their dominant hand free for whatever they were shoving into their faces now. 

Office chat was few and far between, their mouths to busy chewing, smacking, belching to release pressure, that no time was left for chitchat. When they did, it was about their accomplishments in their gains, or their children’s if they were that bored.

“My big Johnny is really starting to widen out,” Mrs. Dickson said through a mouthful of potato chips to the man in the cubicle beside her. “He’s finally in seventh grade, and he’s still a hundred pounds ahead. He’s got no more neck, looks just like his dad. Doc says he’ll be four hundred by high school if he keeps growing like this.”

“Hope he doesn’t plateau,” the man said before letting out a belch and swallowing down more of whatever he was eating; Mrs. Dickson couldn’t tell behind the cubicle wall and, frankly, she was too focused on her own food to care.

“Me too,” she said. “Doc says if he doesn’t, then he’d graduate at six hundred, seven if he’s lucky. I’ll need to get him a wheelchair before he knows it.” She smiled fondly then went back to stuffing her face, crumbs falling onto her expansive breasts. 

Every office employee was at least seven hundred pounds, their wide guts brushing the sides of the cubicles as they buzzed around in their chairs. None of them walked; maybe one or two could, but they were too lazy to. Most were simply bound to the chairs, fat spilling over the sides, their bellies home to many snacks sitting atop ready to enter the expansive mass. 

The managers were always the heaviest, and Mrs. Dickson’s manager was no different. He was only a few steps lower in the corporate ladder in relation to McRoomie, and his gut showed it. His gut alone was at least five hundred pounds, not to mention each limb being a hundred and fifty each. He had just broken a thousand pounds a year ago and flaunted it, having a plaque in front of the building saying ‘Workspace of Melbourne Brown, 1,097 lbs’.

He rarely hired anyone under five hundred pounds, because let’s face it; they wouldn’t fit in. But, Mr. Brown made an exception for his son, who seemed to be a late bloomer by their standards. He was in his mid twenties and was still 438 pounds, having only gained fifty since he graduated. Mr. Brown said it would be a good learning experience for him.

The young man’s first day came and he was shocked to see everyone in wheelchairs. He felt nervous, looking down at his comparatively puny belly as he sat at his desk and began to work. The rest of the staff munched away, and the young man did the same; his father said his first assignment was to eat just as much as everyone else in the office was, and to stay in his cubicle for as long as possible while doing so. A pile of fattening treats sat by his desk and, with one soft exhale, he got to chowing down.

First was a pile of fat, juicy McRoomie burgers. He let the wrappers fall to the floor and shoved it in his mouth, the food so soaked in sauce that he didn’t have to chew all that much. It was mush in seconds and slid easily down his throat, sitting heavy in his stomach. It was rinse and repeat with each burger before they were gone and a pile of wrappers formed at his feet.

Next was a tub of sherbert, a more fattening substitute for ice cream. Silverware was obsolete, so he didn’t think twice before shoving his hand in and scooping it into his mouth. It dribbled down his chin, smears of savory sauce mixing with the melted goo on his face and developing moobs.

What followed was a generous cake, a couple bags of chips, a bucket of chicken, and a 4-liter of soda to wash it all down. By the end of all that, his face and hands were coated in grime and crumbs, and he was patting and rubbing his belly generously. It was break time. He heaved himself up and, slowed by his heavy gut, made his way to the break room, groaning as he had to sit down to catch his breath even though it was only about ten feet.

Once he caught his breath, he got up and grabbed mounds of food, sitting back at the small table and beginning to gorge there for his break. Another cake, some more burgers, and ten packs of cookies were able to satisfy him enough for now. Frosting stuck to his fat face, his tongue reaching out to lick it off and tasting some of the sherbert from earlier. He belched, suckling on his fingers and patting his taut gut.

He heaved himself up again and brought another mound of food back for his cubicle snacks, sitting in his chair and catching his breath before beginning to chow down again.

This round started off with two gallons of creamy noodles, which he scooped up into his mouth and slurped the rest of the way. White sauce smeared across the front of his pristine black shirt, but he’d leave it. It was a display of his weight, of his descent into gluttony as he shovelled more and more into his mouth, just as his father had told him to.

He was a little discouraged when he realized this was exactly how much everyone else ate. He needed to step it up.

\---

Marcus Brown, son of the manager, had been working under his father for about six months now, and he finally fit right in. His eating habits had improved greatly and, with the vague encouragement of his coworkers- “It’s your duty as a citizen, we need to raise the national average,”- He ate his way out of almost all of his clothes, not even bothering to go get new ones. 

His widened ass now sat upon a motorized wheelchair, and he loved it. Sitting at his desk in the morning with a chunk of food in his mouth was the start of each day and he just sat there and gorged, occasionally typing something into the computer. He’d grown partial to burgers and ice cream, as was apparent by the blend of colors that covered splotches of his skin where it had smeared and mixed. Some stains were months old and began to reek, and he was proud of it. He as a person began to smell absolutely foul as bathing was difficult, despite wider bathtubs to compensate for a person’s girth. 

He had finally hit six hundred pounds, but was still small compared to the rest of the office. Still, he was bound and determined to change that, his drive to gain growing half as fast as his appetite had. What one gallon of ice cream filled him a few months ago now needed three, where he used to need ten burgers he now needed at least two dozen. This meant for more trips to the break room to constantly stock up, and thank god for his chair so he didn’t have to walk that distance. 

Something always rested on top of his gut; usually it was whatever tub of ice cream he was working on, always thick and fatty and unable to fully melt between the time he opened the container to the time he finished it off. Each day would end and he would see that the tub had climbed an inch higher in the air, an inch further from him, simply from how stuffed he was. And even then, when he buzzed out and began the trek home, he had to stop at multiple stands set up on the street to refill his gut with goodies, not to mention when he got home he would simply sit on his couch and gorge until he fell asleep.

Then he’d wake in the morning and do it all over again.

\---

A year passed since Marcus Brown had begun working under his father, and in the past six months, he managed to put on another three hundred pounds. His father was proud when the young man announced that he was now 954 pounds and growing, especially since the declaration was made around two-ish eclairs stuffed in the man’s mouth.

His fat overflowed the sides of his chair and he was set to order one of those moving platforms like his father. He constantly spoke with his mouth full, spitting crumbs and drooling all over himself. His fingertips had not been seen in months, coated in whatever he’d eaten and forgotten to suck off. His gut brushed the floor and, the one time he tried to stand, he ended up falling on his front, his gut keeping his face a foot from the ground. No, after that, he refused to stand, content with widening himself and letting his gut get as huge and as hungry as it possibly could, keeping it full to the brim.

“This-”  _ belch _ \- “is what we need more of!” The manager announced to the office. “My wonderful son here has grown into an upstanding citizen, and with people like him, I’m proud to announce that the national average weight has grown since last year!” No one clapped, but slapped their bellies, most of them unable to reach all the way in order to make a clap. Some just nodded, too lazy to do anything. “The new average as we have calculated it is now 639 pounds! I think this calls for a celebration, yes? Yes? I hope you’re all hungry!”

In came many of the little robots carrying five layer cakes, one for each employee, and set them on their desks. Once the robots dispersed, everyone, including Marcus Brown, began sloppily eating their cakes. Marcus worked remarkably fast, flopping forward onto his gut and scarfing it down noisily, his face covered in frosting and crumbs. Greedy hands grabbed and shoved more into his mouth, the tiers toppling down to become more accessible to the fat man, his gut growling for  _ more, more, more _ . Crumbs covered him, his face, his hands, his gut, and after just a short hour, he was the first to finish. He let out a victory belch and looked around, groaning as he realized he couldn’t get up and would need the assistance of a Thousand Pound Squad…

Again…

Oh well. The cake was good, at least. He hoped they wouldn’t take long. He just finished a few minutes ago and he was hungry again,  _ really  _ hungry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoo side plot perhaps? idk


End file.
